


Bag and Tag

by AngelWhisperings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelWhisperings/pseuds/AngelWhisperings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a reluctant bounty hunter of Supernatural creatures until he meets an angel on a hunt that challenges his world view and changes his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

             Dean drinks a lot so he doesn’t have to think about the things he’s done every night for as long as he’s willing to remember. In yet another motel room and after a long day’s sleep, he cracks open the bottle and brings it quickly to his lips. As the whisky slides hard and fast down his throat, their faces fade away. The liquor hits home and pools in the pit of his stomach, all warm and familiar and forgetful. And when at last the calm settles over his mind, he forgets them.  
             

              A text buzzes against his leg and he lifts the light up to his eyes. It’s a total assault on his senses and he squints against it but manages to make out the familiar words. Another job to do. He purposefully ignores the texts sitting just above the new hit. _Where are you? I miss you._ And _please call me._  
             

              It takes him awhile to convince himself that its worth it to put the bottle down, but dark is quickly approaching and he’s running out of time to make his move tonight. Eventually he gets some water into his system and trudges his way to the bathroom. He’s a mess of dirt and stubble, but he hardly cares anymore. No one ever said beauty came with the job description, and it was a fine thing in his case that it wasn’t a requirement.  
             

              The ‘67 Chevy Impala is waiting faithfully for him out in front of the motel. It’s the only reliable thing in the chaos that has become his life and he slides into its comforting embrace. He checks the address one last time and slams the door shut behind him. The car purrs to life underneath him and he tunes the radio loud and clear to an oldies station. The beat fills his ears and he drifts, letting the ritual of the hunt take him over and drown everything else out.  
The sun is starting to set by the time he pulls up to the house on the outskirts of town. He slings the rifle up over his shoulder and tucks a feed sack into the side of his belt on the opposite side of his Glock.  
             

 _Shouldn’t be trouble_. the message had said. Despite his cautious side, Dean felt inclined to believe it. He could feel his muscles coming to life under his skin, every bit of him itching to get going.  
           

              It was always a good idea to approach a hit from the back but after a cursory glance in the house’s dusty old windows, Dean decides to be reckless. He clicks a bullet into place and enters through the front door, senses primed for the onslaught he knows is coming.                                                                                                                                       

              He catches the three werewolves inside by surprise, lands a round in the first one’s head before it can phase into freak mode. The second gets the jump on him and Dean goes down with the monster snarling and snapping at his face. He kicks out strong with his leg and lands a blow that cracks at least two of its ribs. He pulls the glock out of its holster, slams the bullet into place and fires. The monster howls with pain and he takes advantage of its distraction and finishes it with a quick bullet to the neck. The body falls off of him coughing and sputtering blood and he slides out from under it with his eyes on the next target.  
         

              She… It, cowers in the corner, teeth glistening and pupils dilated with fear. He tries to ignore that bit as he stalks forward and slides his gun into his belt.  
           

              “Nice and easy.” He soothes with a hint of sarcasm. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”  
           

               It hisses at him and balls its fists. He can feel the anxiety radiating off of it and he tries not to let that set him off.  
         

              “Who are you? What do you want?” It… She, says. Her voice is minuscule and lilting and he can’t deny its femininity now.  
           

              “Look, lady, who I am? It’s not that important.” He says, shrugging unapologetically. And, like I said, it’s nothing personal. This is just a job.”  
           

              Her eyes flash with anger at his nonchalance. “You killed them.” She hisses softly and suddenly she’s all freak and fangs again. “My brothers. My family. You KILLED them.”  
             

              Dean knows its coming before she does it and he’s ready when she dives at him, fangs bared and nails clawing at the air between them. He side steps her and propels her hard into the wooden wall and she crumples to the ground with a small groan.  
             

              Dean curses quietly to himself as he secures the sack over her head and throws her limp body over his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to hide the bodies or shut the door, just hurries her over to the trunk of the Impala and tosses her in. As he slams the trunk down, his phone vibrates again and he flicks it open aggressively.  


_What’s taking so long? Get your ass over here with the target. Boss’s orders._   


_Yeah, yeah. On my way. Calm your tits._ He crunches back.  
         

             His boss is a powerful and misogynistic dick of a demon named Crowley. Dude runs half the underworld or something, and pays well for the collection of various supernatural creatures. Dean picked up this job three years back and had been biting his tongue and gritting his teeth ever since. Halfway to Crowley’s place he hears a loud thump sound from the trunk and regrets not knocking the girl out harder. He’s never been told what happens to the targets once he turns them over to the demons, and he’s never asked.  
         

             Guttural snarls stream out from behind the back seat’s leather cushions and Dean has nothing against this girl but if she dents his baby she may not make it to Crowley’s alive.  
         

             “Knock it off.” He mutters and cranks the radio up to drown her out.  
           

              When he pulls up to Crowley’s, he doesn’t even get out of the car; just waits for one of the demon lackeys to wrench the girl kicking and screaming from his trunk and for another to deliver the envelope through the small slit he cranks open in the window. He throws the envelope on the seat next to him and tears out of there before he has time to think about what he’s done again. Not thinking is his only saving grace next to the bottle of booze waiting back in his motel room.  
         

              "Carry on my Wayward Son" wafts up through the car speakers and he sings along to it, honing in on the lyrics and forgetting all the rest. He blocks it out with careful harmony; the blood, the screams.   
         

               Can’t think. Won’t think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean receives a new mission but the target is nothing like he thought it would be.

Chapter 2:

      Dean’s next hit comes in eight hours later but this time it comes in a phone call and he nearly drops the phone in surprise at the break in protocol.

 

     “Hello?”

 

      A hissy male voice seeps out of the phone on the other end. “Winchester, we’ve got a special job for you this time. Pack your strongest weapons, and don’t fuck it up.”

 

     “Wait, what is it?” Dean asks but his only reply is a rude click on the other end. He rolls his eyes as the address comes up in his phone with another not so subtle message about his punishment for failure.

 

      “Pack your strongest weapons...” What the hell did that even mean?

 

 

 ****The next place takes Dean awhile to find. It was a three hour drive from his last motel to here: a hellish looking barn in rural Indiana. The panels flap around precariously in the wind and the windows above the door are cracked and broken. Dean had tucked the Colt into his belt loop in the car. With no idea of what was waiting for him, he wasn’t messing around.

 

        This time, he enters from the back of the barn and on first glance it appears completely empty. “Least funny joke ever.” He mutters, kicking over bales of hay in search of any signs of life. In the middle of the roof, a large hole has been blasted through it center and he steps carefully around the broken wood panels on the ground. And that’s when he hears it.

 

         A soft cry trickles out of the wreckage under the hole and he hurries forward on impulse. It takes all of his strength to heave the boards off of whatever is underneath and when he does he stares at it uncomprehendingly.

 

          A six month old baby is staring up at him, face contorted in a wail and tears streaming down its face. Smoke wafts up from her soft brown skin and he snatches her up off the ground without thinking. Her eyes are a weird, almost purple color, and her hair curls in soft black ringlets along her forehead. Her whimpering stifles to hiccups under his touch and he finds himself smiling at her despite himself.  

 

          Dean cradles the baby awkwardly in his right arm and she smiles back at him with a worldy comprehension that startles him. She cooes and jerks, reaching for his face and he hesitantly pulls just out of her reach.This must be a joke.

 

          He flips open his phone and dials.

 

         “You’re freaking joking right?” He demands, and the tone of his voice silences the infant in his arms.

 

          “Do you have the target?” the demon growls back.

 

          “Targets gone. Only thing I have here is a baby with a full diaper.”

 

          “Your target has been acquired. Bring it in at once.”

 

          Dean balks at that and his sarcasm dies in his throat. “But, she’s just a baby.”

 

          “Bring in the target, Winchester. Now!” The phone goes dead and Dean lets it fall out of his hand and to the ground. The target in question smiles up at him again and runs her small hand along the stubble on his face. She studies his face for a moment and then cracks a toothless smile and Dean tastes bile in his mouth.

 

          What the hell did they want with a baby? He takes off his coat and swaddles her in it protectively. He props her up against his shoulder and paces around the barn, his anxiety mounting with each step. Suddenly he’s forced to think again about what happens to the targets once he’s delivered them. They wouldn’t kill a baby, would they? He remembers then how young some of his targets have been- their big scared eyes- and he thinks that yes, if it suited their purpose, they would kill this little one without a moment’s hesitation.

 

          The baby suddenly slaps him hard across the face and he gasps because it’s like he’s been sucker punched in the jaw.

 

         “Ow, fuck!” He curses, rubbing his jaw where he can feel it swelling. Her eyes well with tears and her mouth contorts into a pout. It softens him a little.

 

         “Shhh… Shhh. You don’t have to cry. Just, gentle with dumb old Dean’s face okay?” He pets her head and she calms. “You pack a punch, Pudgy. Damn.”

 

          She strokes his face more gently this time and he starts singing to her softly.

 

          What the hell am I going to do? He mentally calculates his odds of surviving if he takes Pudgy and runs. They’re not very promising. His survival he can bet on, but he has to be honest. He has no idea how to care for a baby. No idea how to protect her from Crowley’s henchman or from the big bad demon himself once he discovers what Dean has done.

 

          The wind overhead has been steadily picking up but he doesn’t notice it until a panel falls from the ceiling and whips around the room like a tornado is propelling it. He shields the baby with his body and is about to turn for the door when a blast to the roof sends him sprawling to the ground. Pudgy begins to cry and he cradles her under his body as a wall of shattered window glass assaults him from above. He can feel the pieces of glass cutting into his back and he grits his teeth, pulling her in closer.

 

          A high- pitched keening starts low in his ears and builds until he has to take one hand off the baby and cover his ears to keep his head from exploding.Just when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, the sound cuts off and the wind on the roof slows to an eery calm. He moans softly at the ringing pain in his ears and raises himself dizzily to his feet. He can feel the glass shards in his back cutting deep into his skin but he ignores it. He gives Pudgy a cursory once over but she seems unharmed so he tucks her into his jacket and zips her in. Someone is coming, he can sense it. Footsteps sound on the gravel outside and he pulls the Colt shakily out of his belt and aims it at the doorway.   

 

          The wind starts up again and a figure steps slowly through the doorway, tan trenchcoat billowing around his lean form. His skin is a light tan color and his hair sticks up in black edgy spikes that frame the eerily calm look on his face. The dude looks like a lost, nerdy tax accountant, but his mannerisms are all monster on a mission. He walks toward Dean trailing long black shadows and fixes its glowing blue eyes on him. Dean feels a chill come over him suddenly and his always steady gun hand begins to shake.

 

          As he steps closer Dean pulls his glance away from his eyes and focuses on the shadows that have begun to rise up and around the trenchcoat. Pudgy stirs in his jacket and he resists the urge to raise a hand to soothe her. The door to the barn flies open with a crash and the shadows shift into form. Brown and grey feathers eclipse out the light and Dean gasps when he sees it. The haunting blue eyes hone in on him again and he takes a step back.The shadows aren’t shadows at all.  

 

          They’re wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Castiel! I had a lot of fun writing this one and the next chapter should be up soon. As always, let me know if you like it, and PLEASE comment so I know whether I should keep writing more. Thanks guys. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress for me. I have the first few chapters planned out but would appreciate any feedback you can give me. If you like it, please say so and I will keep writing. Idk if this will ever wind up being NSFW, its possible in the later chapters if there becomes a need or desire for it. Let me know your thoughts. :)
> 
> (I don't usually write in present tense and it feels a bit awkward but I wanted to practice and get better with it. The quality of my past tense writing is usually a lot better so I apologize in advance. The kinks of writing in present tense tend to limit me at this stage in my practice with it.)


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